


The Art of Observation

by KaytiKazoo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, Model Derek Hale, Photographer Stiles, stiles has a dog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 00:30:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3789904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaytiKazoo/pseuds/KaytiKazoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is a photography student, and Derek is a famous model that he has to photograph for class, and then takes him home, in the least sexy way possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Observation

**i.**

Stiles was late. Stiles was so, so late. Finstock was going to murder him, he was pretty sure. It was going to happen since this would be his fifth tardy in as many weeks. It was a once a week class, and Stiles was pretty sure that Finstock was going to flunk him out of spite. It wasn’t Stiles’ fault he had his work study job right before class all the way across campus at the library and his supervisor didn’t like to come back from lunch on time so Stiles could leave, it really wasn’t.

Okay, maybe it was because he chose that time to work, but there wasn’t many other times on the schedule that fit in between Stiles’ classes, so at the same time, it wasn’t.

He pulled the strap of his bag tighter so it stopped bouncing awkwardly against his lower back and adjusted his camera bag, which kept reacquainting itself with Stiles’ hip as he jogged up the steep steps to the third floor. He tried to push the door to the classroom open quietly but it was an old building, the hinges on all of the doors tired and cranky, screeching in protest. The entire class turned to watch him as he hurried through the door to take a seat, unfortunately, in Finstock’s spitting zone.

He hated his classmates.

“Bilinski,” he growled as Stiles set his stuff down.

“Sorry, Coach,” he muttered. “Just got out of work.”

“You’re always just getting out of work,” Coach Finstock snapped.

“See, that’s the thing. I always have to work. It’s an important part of work study, you know? They don’t give you the paycheck if you don’t do the work part,” Stiles said before he thought better of it.

Coach’s eyes narrowed at him.

“Don’t make me regret letting you in my class, Bilinski,” Coach said.

The class had been filled by the time Stiles had gotten the website to work, but he had begged and pleaded Coach to let him into the class anyway. Coach had caved, obviously, because Stiles was stubborn when he wanted something, and what was the point of being a photography major if he didn’t take photography classes at least once a year.

“Sorry, Coach,” he repeated.

“Now, as I was saying, we’re going to be starting a new project this week, which involves models!”

A group of people Stiles hadn’t noticed when he entered stood up and filed to the front before Finstock continued. Stiles recognized five of the models standing against the wall, four of which were part of a very popular modeling family, the fifth an old friend of his.

The Hales were an unfairly beautiful family, and thus made unfairly beautiful models. There had been an older woman, the matriarch model, Talia, who had retired when her children became old enough to step in front of cameras. Her brother, Peter was still one of the most popular models in the business, Stiles knew, because he was always willing to be a bit risqué and would try anything handed to him. Laura, the oldest daughter of Talia Hale, was always in fashion spreads because she looked amazing in anything. Cora, the youngest daughter, was fresh-faced, having turned 18 the year before and therefore new enough to the spotlight that she didn’t have a particular genre, but she had been in plenty of music videos in the past few months. And then, there was Derek Hale, the middle child and only son. Stiles didn’t know much about Derek’s photoshoot history besides that he was normally shirtless or in leather, there was no in-between.

“There is one model for each person in this class, and I will be assigning you to your model. The assignment is to research your model and their history of photo sessions, and do something they have never done.”

The class began to mumble to each other at their tables, despite Coach’s firm glower aimed at them.

“Shut your traps!” Coach barked.

Stiles made eye contact with Lydia Martin, a girl he’d known since 3rd grade who was one of Coach’s models and made a face. She covered her mouth with a perfectly manicured hand and tried not to giggle. She was beautiful, Stiles had always thought, with her strawberry blonde hair and the terrifying genius she hid behind her looks. Lydia, he knew, was using her modelling paychecks to save for the best college she could get into. She’d had this plan since she was 13 and was contacted to model for the first time. Now, six years later, Stiles figured she might be coming close to retirement. She wanted to win the Fields’ medal, or something equally impressive, and be a world renowned mathematician, and Stiles was going to get to watch her do it, and take her picture the entire journey.

“Something funny, Bilinski?” Coach asked, spitting on Stiles. He tried not to wince as he shook his head. He really wished Greenburg, the shakiest-handed photographer in the entire class, was there to be the scapegoat. Coach accepted his answer and turned to grab his notes for the assignment, allowing Stiles to lift up the collar on his plaid over-shirt and wipe his face off without being caught. A few of the models, Cora and Laura Hale included, looked at him with a kind pity in their perfect faces.

Stiles appreciated it.

“You will submit 10 photos to me on Instructure by midnight next Thursday,” Finstock continued. “You will be graded on the usual, plus creativity and how you tailor your shoot to your model.”

He handed the rubric to each table and went back to his desk, and opened up Instructure on the projector. He went through the grading rubric that he put up, explaining the weight of each segment as if it wasn’t the same grading rubric that they’d had for each project they’d turned in. Stiles took out his phone and fiddled with the camera app before zooming in on Lydia staring at him with her _it’s criminal to be this bored_ face. He snapped a pic and uploaded it to his Twitter with the caption **@LydsMartin doesn’t appreciate Coach Finstock the way she should.**

Her retweet and reply came a minute later during Finstock’s lecture on why their photos should not, repeat not be in black and white, which was a wasted lecture due to the fact that Greenburg was absent.

**@Stilinki24 doesn’t appreciate living the way he should.**

Stiles swallowed his laugh and retweeted it in return. She winked at him when he looked up and subtly tucked her phone away into a pocket of her cardigan.

“Okay, now, partners,” Coach said, closing the browser and switching the projector off. “Caitlin, with Emily.  Heather, with Paige. Bilinski, with Hale.”

“Coach,” Stiles piped up.

“What?”

“Which Hale, exactly? There’s, uhh, there’s four of them.”

“Ah,” Coach said, staring at the four Hales with a frown, then looking back at his list, then at Stiles. “Derek. Greenburg, with Lydia.”

Stiles couldn’t stop the snort that rose out of him. Coach didn’t seem to hear but Lydia glared at him with a ferocity that chilled him to the core. Lydia was terrifying.

Stiles wriggled his eyebrows at Lydia as Coach continued assigning pairs.

Lydia flared her nostrils and flicked her hair over her shoulder.

“Okay, meet with your partners,” Coach called. Lydia looked around with a pinched expression on her face. Stiles raised his hand.

“What now, Stilinski?”

Stiles _knew_ Coach knew his last name; he was just an ass.

“It’s just that Lydia’s partnered with Greenburg, and Greenburg didn’t show up for class today.”

“I’ll take care of that.”

Derek sank into the chair on Stiles’ right, looking irritated.

“Hi, I’m Stiles,” he introduced himself.

“Derek.”

“Alright, so, I need to do some research on you before I can decide what we’re going to be doing, but do you have any time you are particularly freer than other times?”

“I can do it any time after Friday morning,” Derek answered.

“Mmmhm,” Stiles said, flipping through his calendar on his phone and scratching at his jaw. “I get out of class tomorrow at 1:50, if you want to just do what we can then.”

“Do you have anything in mind?”

Stiles thought back on all of the photos he had seen of Derek, and he had seen a lot, and grinned.

“How do you feel about bunnies?”

 

**ii.**

They met again outside of Stiles’ dorm on Friday, after Stiles’ last class, a dumb Gen Chem class that dragged his GPA down, had ended. Derek pulled up outside of the dorm in his fancy, sexy car and leaned against the hood with his sunglasses on, arms crossed over his chest. The sunglasses covered his eyebrows, an impressive feat, and reflected everything perfectly.

“You look like a tool,” Stiles informed him as soon as he left the front entrance, patting his pockets to check for his phone, his keys, his wallet, and then checked his camera bag for everything he’d need for the shoot.

“This is a popular photo-shoot pose,” Derek informed him, one eyebrow coming up over the rim of his sunglasses.

“Maybe, but we’re not going for popular, remember? We’re going for original, unique, one-of-a-kind! Bunnies, rainbows, and not a single piece of leather,” he said, giving Derek’s leather jacket a look. He couldn’t see Derek’s eyes, but he was pretty sure Derek was rolling them. They’d spent ten minutes sitting next to each other during Stiles’ photography class, and Derek had rolled his eyes at Stiles no less than 3 times.

“So you’re actually going to cover me in small rabbits,” Derek said, moving to climb into the driver’s side of the shiny, black Camaro. Stiles, undeterred by Derek’s less than thrilled tone, followed and climbed into the passenger side.

“It is literally the exact opposite of your usual, so yes, bunnies.”

Derek nodded.

“So, where are we going?”

“I have an in with this bunny breeder just outside of town.”

“There is no such thing as a bunny breeder,” Derek said, starting the car which gave an impressive growl in reply.

“Oh, and there you would be wrong. There are people on this Earth, Mr. Hale, that base their entire living on rabbits fucking like rabbits.”

Derek let out a sigh and shook his head.

“Where to?”

Stiles pulled out his phone and typed in the location, letting the GPS app guide Derek out of the city and into the more rural areas around it. They pulled into a driveway of a large ranch-style home with a big red barn off to the side.

“They have a barn for the bunnies,” Stiles stated. “That’s a bunny barn. That is a big, red bunny barn.”

“I’m starting to believe you’re not doing this to get a grade,” Derek said. “You just want to play with some rabbits.”

“Maybe, but this is also a brilliant idea. And so is that bunny barn.”

“Stop saying bunny barn.”

“It’s not my fault this breeder is literally called the Polish Bunny Barn,” Stiles replied, pushing open his door and getting out. He pulled his camera bag up from the foot well and gave Derek a look. “I warn you, they breed Polish rabbits, but they also speak mostly Polish, and what English they speak is very heavily accented.”

“How-”

“I speak Polish,” Stiles told him and stood, shutting the door. The door to the home flung open and a heavy-set woman with flour on her cheek and her greying hair up in a bun bustled out.

She called out to him by his real name and he grinned.

“ _Cześć ciociu_ ,” he greeted, his mother’s language coming as easily as his father’s. “Derek, this is my aunt, Czesława. You can just call her Cece, if you want. _Ciociu, to jest Derek_.”

“He’s handsome, _bratanek_ ,” she said, her English perfect on a Polish accent. His mother used to speak like that, her Polish and English sometimes swirling together, half of her sentences coming out a blur of the two.

“Eh, he’s alright,” Stiles said with a smile. “Bunnies?”

Cece led the pair towards the barn where her husband, a surly-looking man with the biggest sweet tooth Stiles had seen, was cooing at a small bunny in his hands. Stiles didn’t know much about bunnies, besides that they were soft, and cute, and kind of hard to care for. What he knew was that his aunt and uncle made a living on them and that his _babcia_ had always hated them. He hadn’t come to see Cece or his uncle in years, and they didn’t make the drive to Beacon Hills ever, which meant that he hadn’t seen them since his mother’s funeral.

“Czczepan!” his uncle called, setting the bunny in his hands back into the cage. He also spoke Polish, but he had been raised in the United States so he had no thick, Polish accent.

“What does that mean?” Derek asked.

“My name, technically. Don’t ever call me it.”

“I can’t even pronounce it.”

“Good. Let’s get some bunnies and cover you in them.”

Stiles followed his family into the barn and led Derek in with a gesture. Derek looked like he was about to walk into a lion’s den or something equally terrifying, even though Stiles’ family were _bunny breeders_ and literally the least terrifying people Stiles had met.

Stiles looked around the barn while Derek listened to Paul and Cece chatter back and forth in Polish about the rabbits.

“Hale, come here,” Stiles said and Derek walked down the length of the barn to Stiles. “Take off your jacket and sunglasses.”

“Already trying to get me out of my clothes, Stilinski?” Derek asked with that grin, that knee-melting grin that you never saw in any of Derek’s photoshoots. “You’re going to have to buy me dinner first.”

“I think I can manage dinner, but first,” Stiles said, but his final word died in his throat when Derek took off his jacket and dropped it to the wooden floor. He was wearing a soft-looking grey t-shirt advertising the Los Angeles Dodgers that clung to his shoulders and the breadth of his chest, and Stiles wanted to bury himself into that expansive bear of a chest.

“Bunnies,” Derek finished for him.

“Yeah, bunnies. Sorry. Just take a seat anywhere.”

Stiles set his bag on the ground and started to fiddle with his camera, while his aunt and uncle started to gather bunnies out of their cages. Stiles decided on the lens he wanted, and decided to check on lighting while Cece placed a two bunnies in Derek’s lap, one big fat one and a tiny baby one. He snapped a photo of Derek looking surprised, his hand brushing the big rabbit’s soft fur.

Paul set two more on Derek when Stiles’ phone started to ring obnoxiously in his pocket.

“Hold on,” Stiles said, slinging the strap over his neck and letting the camera drop against his chest. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and answered it. “Hello?”

“Mr. Stilinski, it’s Alan Deaton,” his veterinarian said. “I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s about Zuko. I think you should come home.”

Stiles’ heart stopped for a beat and he had to relearn quickly how to breathe. He knew exactly what Deaton needed from Stiles, mostly because he had been dreading this since he left for school without his Jeep.

“Okay, I’ll be there in a few hours. Will you stay open until I can get there?”

“Of course. I’ll see you then, Mr. Stilinski.”

Stiles hung up and tucked his phone back into his pocket.

“Derek, I have to go to Beacon Hills. There’s a family emergency, and I need you to drive me there.”

 

**iii.**

Stiles let Derek drive, throwing directions at him every now and again to keep them on track. He had left his leather jacket off and tossed it into the back, and Stiles couldn’t stop himself from taking discreet photos on his phone. He shamelessly uploaded them to Twitter.

**I have the best looking chauffeur in the bizz @DHale**

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” Derek asked.

Stiles admired how pretty Derek looked in any setting, but especially this one with his hair rustling in the open window, open expression on his face. Derek was all sexy and sultry in his photoshoots, all blue steel and vogue, and this was something completely different. This was Derek the person, not Derek the model. Stiles wanted to capture Derek the person somehow, getting Derek to model without activating Derek the model.

“Do you think I care? My job, my career is taking pictures,” Stiles said, flipping through his Twitter uploads. He found a picture of Zuko that he had shared to his Twitter before he left for the fall semester of school.

“So, tell me again who we’re going to see?” Derek asked.

“Don’t laugh, but my dog is sick. He’s a rescue and he was mistreated before I adopted him, so when I’m gone from home too long, he gets nervous and stressed out and he doesn’t eat or sleep until I come back.”

“Gotcha,” Derek said with a nod, and he didn’t ask any more questions.

That didn’t stop Stiles, though. His mouth ran on Energizer batteries, sometimes, and it just kept going, and going, and going.

“His name is Zuko, because of this scar his last owners gave me across his eye, like the Avatar character. He was in bad shape when my dad found him, tied up outside during one of the hottest days of the summer without any shade or water, too skinny for his age. He cowered away from everyone, even Deaton, who is this miracle worker with animals. But I was twelve, and scrawny, and not much of a threat so he let me come close to him without growling or cowering, and then he became my best friend. It helped that I feed him, and let him sleep on my bed, even though it pissed my dad off so much.”

“Sounds adorable,” Derek said.

“Yeah, so we’re both really dependent on each other and it’s hard to be away from each other, especially for Zu. Normally, I have my own car so I can just drive home every couple of weekends so he knows I still love him and I’m still alive, but my Jeep decided to break down over the summer and I’m saving money to fix it, but whatever. So I couldn’t get home or find someone to drive me three hours north just to see my dog.”

“So he got stressed out, thought you weren’t coming back,” Derek supplied.

“Exactly.”

Derek smiled and said, “You really love him, huh?”

“Yeah, I’d do anything for the mutt.”

 

**iv.**

“So this is the birthplace of the Lydia Martin,” Derek commented as they finally stepped out of the car to stretch their legs at the first gas station inside of Beacon Hills’ city limits.

“Also the birthplace of me, you know,” Stiles replied.

“How could I forget?” Derek said with a roll of his eyes. Stiles grinned.

“Do you want to come with me to pick up Zuko or would you like me to find you a place to stay?”

Derek frowned.

“Do you not want me staying with you?”

“Oh, that’s not it,” Stiles rushed, cheeks blazing with embarrassment. “I just thought you wanted your own space. I can drop you off at my dad’s, though.”

“I can just go with you, if you don’t mind, that way you can get Zuko first.”

“I don’t, just let me call Scott and let him know we’re on our way.”

Derek nodded and headed into the store while Stiles dialed.

“Hey!” Scott answered in his usual chipper voice. He’d received his veterinarian technician associate’s degree the May of that year and had taken up his position at Deaton’s clinic at a higher pay in order to save up for going back to school to get his full veterinarian degree. “You in town?”

“Yeah, we’re heading over now. He doing okay?”

“Your dad brought him in because he hasn’t been eating, and he doesn’t play, but Deaton gave him an IV to give him all the nutrients he needs until you get here. He’ll be fine. Did you say we?”

“I don’t have a car, Scott,” Stiles said. He watched as Derek headed towards the counter with two items in his arms, too far away to decipher exactly what. “Did you expect me to just teleport home?”

“Well, no. I didn’t think about it, actually.”

Stiles laughed and ran a hand through his hair.

“It’s chill, bro. I’m really hoping to get the Jeep working over Christmas break so we can actually do things.”   

“Like what? There’s nothing to do here!” Scott reminded him. He sighed.

“We’ll figure something out. You, me, Zu, Kira maybe, we’ll go down to the beach or something.”

“For Christmas break?”

“Stop killing my dreams, Scott.”

“Sorry. I’ll talk to Kira, she’ll figure it out.”

“Thanks, bro. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

They hung up just as Derek came out of the store, a bottle of water in one hand and a candy bar in the other. Stiles raised his eyebrows.

“Wow, I didn’t think models ate candy bars.”

Derek scowled at him and pointedly took a bite out of the chocolate. Stiles laughed.

“Sorry, Lydia lets me get away with model jokes because I feed her. She also has a thing going with my dad’s deputy that I know about and if she lets me crack jokes about her job, I let her keep her little fling with him a secret,” Stiles said. “Also, if you mention to her that you know, I will kill you.”

“What’s the big deal?”

“She’s not sure she wants to date him, or just bang him, so she’s trying to keep him out of the spotlight until she’s done.”

“Done?”

“Modelling.”

“What do you mean?” Derek asked, climbing back into the Camaro and breaking off a pip of chocolate to offer to Stiles, who took it with a gracious smile. People didn’t give him things with sugar often, because well, they generally knew what Stiles plus sugar equaled.

“She’s only doing modelling to save up for MIT. Her family was too deep in debt and she didn’t want a bundle of loans waiting for her. She’s had her tuition covered for about a year now, but she wanted to have some extra for spending money, or whatever. But yeah, she’s gonna retire soon.”

“Oh. Huh.”

Derek started the car and backed out of the parking space.

“Where to?”

Stiles directed them through the streets of Beacon Hills to the vet clinic, letting them pull up right beside Scott’s bike. Stiles was practically vibrating with excitement, both at seeing Scott and at seeing Zuko for the first time since late August. He’d Skyped with Scott, and made his dad send him pictures and videos of Zuko, but it wasn’t the same.

Stiles practically pounced out of the car when Derek put the Camaro into park and dashed inside.

“Scotty!”

Scott came out of the back room just as the entrance door gave a second tinkle of its bell signaling Derek’s arrival.

“Stiles!”

Stiles pushed his way behind the counter and threw himself into Scott’s arms for a hug, Scott’s arms already reaching for him without having to ask.

Stiles liked his life at school. He liked his roommate, and he liked his classmates, his classes, his professors, his campus, his job, everything. He liked it. He liked being in southern California, closer to everything interesting in California.

But he didn’t like being away from Scott.

“Okay, no offense, bro, I enjoy our hugs but my dog,” Stiles said, breaking the embrace first.

“Yeah, yeah. Come see him.”

Stiles peeked over his shoulder. Derek just made a shooing motion from the waiting room, sinking into a chair with a very old issue of The Beacon, Beacon Hills’ local newspaper. Stiles followed Scott into the back room and his heart did that stupid skip a beat thing it did when he was happy.

“There he is,” Scott said.

Stiles crossed quickly to Zuko, who was thumping his tail against the pet bed excitedly, and dropped down to hug him. He wrapped his arms around Zuko’s neck, letting the mutt’s head rest on his shoulder while he buried his own into short brindle-colored fur.

“Hey Zu. I missed you, buddy,” he spoke into the dog’s chest. Zuko’s entire body was shaking, as it always did when wagging his tail did not completely cover how happy he was. There was a scale of happiness to Zuko’s wagging that Stiles had developed early on; tail, butt, back, shoulders, whole body. He rarely whole body wagged, except for long periods of time when Stiles had been gone.

He sat back and let Zuko crawl into his lap and lick his chin and face with long, excited swipes. He had never grown out of licking to show his affection, which was fine with Stiles, even if he was eight years old. He would forever be a puppy, and that was also fine with Stiles. Some people thought he looked mean and fierce, which was probably 95% the scar around his eye and 5% the fact that he looked vaguely pitty. He was a lanky dog, long legs like a greyhound, but broad shoulders like a pit bull, and a long face which Deaton mentioned was from a whippet lineage. He had ears that attempted to stand up and flopped over halfway, the end of one had been clipped off before the Sheriff had rescued him.

Stiles loved everything about this dog, from the tip of his cute black nose to the end of his tail, a tail that knocked everything off the lower shelves in the house.

There’s that saying that dogs are man’s best friend, and Stiles could honestly say that Zuko was his best friend, as long as you didn’t tell Scott.

Deaton came through the door from the exam room, a sleepy looking tabby cat in his arms and eased the cat into a cage where it flopped down and proceeded to fall asleep.

“Do you need to keep him any longer or can I just take him home?” Stiles asked, scratching behind Zuko’s ear that made his back leg start thumping wildly on the floor.

“He’s good to go. We gave him fluids subcutaneously on the back of his neck where he has the most skin, and he’s already perked up. Since we already know why he hasn’t been himself, there’s no need for tests, so you can take him home. I just suggest that you don’t wait so long between coming home to see him next time,” Deaton said.

“You still have my insurance on file, right?”

“Right. Zuko should be fine, just make sure he’s eating and getting enough exercise while you’re home. Let Scott or myself know if anything else happens.”

Stiles stood and Zuko stood with him, waiting patiently by his side while Scott brought him his leash and collar from the wall. Stiles hooked the collar around the dog’s neck and scratched underneath his chin while Zuko licked at his hand in reply.

“I’ll be home all weekend, if you want to drop by, Scott. I’ve got Derek with me, but he’s pretty chill so we can still hang out.”

“I’ll text you when I get out of work, so we can make some plans,” Scott answered before turning to a cage with a grumpy dachshund in a cast that glared at him.

“You ready to go home, big guy?” Stiles asked, turning back to the dog taking up most of his lap.

Zuko barked in response, his big brown eyes sparkling with happiness. Stiles could feel that same happiness in himself. It was good.

 

**v.**

Stiles led Zuko out of the back room and into the waiting room where Derek was still sitting, The Beacon held out in front of him like a shield. Zuko hung back a few steps, the way he did whenever there was a new person he didn’t immediately recognize. Stiles reached down and reassuringly stroked his hand over Zuko’s head.

“Hey Derek,” Stiles said. Derek dropped the paper and Stiles watched as his eyes fell from Stiles’ face down his arm, down the leash, to Zuko.

“He’s gorgeous,” Derek said quietly, sliding off the chair to kneel on the ground. Stiles let Zuko pad cautiously towards Derek, ears back and tail between his legs, his body poised to run in case Derek’s kind demeanor turned out to be a ruse. Derek held out a single hand, palm side up, and let Zuko sneak forward to sniff it.

Stiles had always believed that dogs had this sixth sense about who was a good person and who wasn’t. His mother, before she died, had said the same thing, which is probably where Stiles had gotten the idea in the first place. She would always tell this story about walking her dog when she was about 12 years old down the road.

“We lived in a tiny village in Poland, and everyone knew everyone, a very close-knit community.”

She had started every one of her Motherland Tales, her words, like this.

“Czaruś and I were on our nightly walk, right after dinner but before I had to do my homework. We were strolling through the town square and across the train tracks when Czaruś started to growl and bark like I had never heard before. He was a sweet dog, loved everyone, and only growled in his sleep. He pulled me off the tracks, since he was this massive dog, and into the trees. Then I saw this man in a trench coat walking down the tracks. He looked mean, and like he wanted to hurt somebody. Later your _babcia_ told me that there was a man with a gun in our village that the police had picked up after he had killed two girls just about my age in the neighboring town.”

She then would smile, pet whatever dog around that had triggered this tale, and say in a happy, breathy voice, “I owe Czaruś my life, and your life, Czczepan.”

Stiles watched as Zuko decided that Derek was good and bumped the scarred side of his face into Derek’s palm. Derek’s hand was practically the size of Zuko’s entire head, which was a feat considering he had a big head. It wasn’t a Great Dane head or a Saint Bernard head, but he had a considerable-sized head. Which meant-

Stiles was not going to think what that meant. He was not here to get into Derek’s pants, and it wouldn’t help him any to think that way.

“He doesn’t normally warm up to someone so quickly. You must radiate trust or something,” Stiles said, his voice drawing Zuko’s attention. “You want to go home, Zu? Get some food?”

Zuko’s tail and butt began to wag and he pulled Stiles using the leash towards the door.

“You don’t mind him being in your car, right? Because that would be really unfortunate if you said no.”

“It’s fine. My cousins are far worse than your dog and my aunt makes me give them rides in my car.”

Stiles and Zuko led him out into the parking lot, Derek walking to the driver’s side and unlocking the car for Stiles who popped open the passenger’s side. Zuko sat, looking into the strange car.

“Okay, Zu. You want to go for a car ride?”

His tail thumped against the pavement.

“Get in!”

 _Thumpthumpthump_.

“Come on, Zu. We do this every time. Get in the car, buddy!”

“You want a treat? You want a bacon cube?”

Stiles pretended to reach into his pocket, even though Zuko would’ve been able to smell bacon treats on him the minute he walked in, and pretended to pull out a treat, holding his fist the same way. The thumping sped up and grew in volume.

“Get in,” Stiles said, swinging his fist towards the car. Zuko leapt into the car and then climbed into the back, sitting perfectly in the middle of the back seat. Stiles climbed in and shut the door, before he showed his empty hand to Zuko who licked at his palm, then huffed when there wasn’t even a trace of treat. “He’s lying on your jacket.”

“Oh, well, if that’s the case, you can walk,” Derek said with a roll of his eyes. He started the car and rolled down both of their windows. “Your house?”

Stiles nodded and proceeded to give him directions as Derek drove. He was excited to see his hometown again, and he was especially excited to see that his father’s truck was parked in the driveway next to his junky, sad Jeep.

Then he realized that his _father_ was home.

His father was _home_ and he had brought home a boy.

“Fuck,” he said out loud, quietly but out loud. It didn’t matter how quietly he said, they were in a small- but impressive- car and Derek could hear him.

“What? Did you get lost?”

“No, that’s my house,” Stiles said, pointing to it. “And that is my dad’s car.”

“Okay?”

“I’m just going to say this, and I hope this doesn’t freak you out, but I’m bisexual, and my dad knows that.”

“You’re bringing a guy home to your dad, who knows you’re into guys,” Derek filled in.

“He might not immediately assume we’re dating, but he might try and, what’s the nicest way to put this, pimp me out to you.”

“That’s the nicest way to put it?”

“Once you meet my dad, you’ll figure it out.”

“That sounds ominous.”

Stiles laughed and opened the door to the car. He patted his thighs and whistled, making Zuko leap into the front seat and out into the front lawn. Stiles followed, dragging his camera bag from the footwell and swiping Zuko’s leash from the ground.

Derek followed the pair from where he had parked at the curb, up the walk, and stopped at the front door while Stiles fumbled for his keys.

There was a dirty version of this scene playing in Stiles’ mind, where Derek was kissing along his neck while he tried to get the door open so they could-

He had to stop thinking like that.

He had to think about, instead, preparing Derek for his father.

“I should also mention,” Stiles paused as he got the key in the lock, “my dad is the Sheriff.”

“You mention that _now_?” Derek hissed as Stiles opened the door and let Zuko off his leash so he could run off to his dog bed or his food bowl or to his toys. He grinned over his shoulder at Derek.

“I believe in you.”

“That’s not helpful, you know,” Derek grumbled.

“Dad! We’re home!”

Stiles found the Sheriff in his office.

“I want you to meet someone, Dad. Don’t make this weird, he’s just a friend. Derek, come here.”

Derek appeared at Stiles’ elbow, and peeked around him nervously.

“Hello, sir.”

“He’s infinitely better already than that last boy you thought was a good idea with the nose ring and the half-shaved head.”

“Oh, god. Dad. Ian was-”

“Just a friend. I am aware,” the Sheriff said, closing his case file and standing from his desk. “Is it time for dinner?”

“Yes, and I’ll be the one cooking it so be aware of what you say.”

The Sheriff groaned and clapped his hand on Derek’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry he dragged you into this, son.”

“ _I’m sorry he dragged you into this_ , _son_ ,” Stiles mocked. “He makes it sound like me trying to prevent him having a heart attack is a heinous crime. He also tries to make it seem like I’m feeding him these awful things when in reality it’s just salad and vegetables, less steak and more veggie burgers. It’s not. It’s also his doctor’s orders. Less fatty foods so his brave, police man of a heart can continue to work to his grandchildren.”

“When am I getting those, by the way?” the Sheriff asked.

“You’re starting to sound like your mother,” Stiles shot back.

“You take that back, you ungrateful child.”

“Eat seconds of your salad,” Stiles said, “and I’ll think about it.”

 

**vi.**

“I have to get back to work,” the Sheriff said after dinner, a move that Stiles knew was not about how dedicated his father was to his job but instead how much he did not want to be stuck with the dishes. “Try not to get into too much trouble, Stiles.”

Stiles frowned at his father as he evasively snuck out of the kitchen and back into his office.

“When I was a kid, Mom had this rule that whoever cooked dinner didn’t have to do the dishes,” Stiles said, just to say something to Derek who was leaning against a counter nearby. “My dad hated that rule, because he’s not that great of a cook so Mom always made dinner. When I learned to coo, I started to make dinner. He always had to do the dishes, and he will do anything, almost, to get out of doing them, including feigning having a case, or errands to run.”

“What happened to your mom? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

“She died,” Stiles said, his voice stilted in a way he didn’t intend. “When I was 7, she started to get sick and by the time I was 8, she died.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek replied.

Stiles pushed himself off of the counter and started to gather the dirty dishes from the stove top.

“Can I help?”

“Oh, no. Thank you, but you’re a guest. I-”

Derek inserted himself at the kitchen sink before Stiles could continue to insist and began filling up the left bay with hot, soapy water. Stiles fell silent and left the dishes at his elbow and moved around to set the drainer on the edge of the other bay.

It was cliché, washing dishes side by side, one washing and rinsing, the other drying, but it was nice. Stiles hadn’t had cliché, not this kind at least. This was like a scene from a cheesy teen rom-com or something, where the protagonist and the love interest bump shoulders and flick soap at each other before letting the tension between them build so much that they had to have each other right then, kissing desperately against the kitchen counter. Stiles didn’t have that kind of cliché. What he had was eating small, easy meals he cooked by himself while his father was working the late night shift and washing a single plate, one fork, and one glass.

Now, that? That was a cliché, just not the kind that Stiles wanted.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a home-cooked meal, actually,” Derek said while Stiles was putting away the cups. “My agent has had me at all kinds of fashion shows and conventions and photoshoots for weeks.”

“Oh, poor little model,” Stiles joked.

“Laugh all you want. It’s not as easy as most people think to just live in hotels for weeks. I like being home and seeing my family, seeing my nieces and nephews, and being, I don’t know. Not a model.”

“Derek the person,” Stiles said.

“Yeah,” Derek replied, turning slightly to look at Stiles. Their gaze didn’t falter for a few moments, and this was the cliché shit that Stiles wanted, but it was Stiles who looked away before the tension could build. He didn’t need to be making an unwarranted move on a Hale model, especially when that Hale model was his ride back to campus as well as _his assignment_.

“I get it, sort of. I’ve always been the Sheriff’s son, well, not always. He was a deputy until I was 10. But I’ve always been the son of law enforcement, so it was nice when I went to school and I was just Stiles. Which, I guess isn’t the same thing as being a world-renowned model, but-”

“We can’t all be world-renowned models. If only world-renowned models tried to relate to me, I might actually blow my brains out. Models are really, really dull people most of the time, all serious, no emotion, or personality. They’re all vegetables when you try and talk to them.”

Stiles laughed, bracing himself on the counter.

“Balances out with photographers, then, because we’re all fucking crazy. You’ve met Coach Finstock, right? He’s a prime example of crazy.”

“There’s also you,” Derek said with a playful smirk.

“Ass,” Stiles replied with a laugh.

He felt a bump against the back of his thigh and he looked away from Derek to find the source. Zuko was standing at his side, his big brown eyes shiny with pleading.

“What?”

He bounced, then trotted over to the back door, then looked at Stiles pointedly.

“Two minutes, Zu,” Stiles answered, to which Zuko pawed at the door. “We’re going outside, apparently.”

He dried off his hands and nodded towards Zuko.

“You want to come with us?”

“Yeah!”

Stiles stepped outside with Zuko first and let him dash off into the yard. He sank down on the steps and watched Zuko trot back and forth along the fence line, nose to the ground. He heard the door open and close, and Derek sat beside him. There was more than enough room for the both of them, but Derek sat with his thigh brushing Stiles’.

“So,” Derek said, bumping his knee purposefully into Stiles. “You’re by far one of the most interesting people I’ve met in a while.”

“What about me is that interesting?”

“Your name is unpronounceable, your aunt and uncle are bunny breeders, and you have a dog that you made a stranger drive you three hours north to see. Plus, your first idea to the assignment was bunnies.”

Stiles knew he was blushing, and forced himself to keep his eyes on Zuko who had found a spot in the yard that he wanted to dig at.

“Zuko, no!” Stiles called. Zuko slunk away from the spot and over to Stiles, his tail tucked between his legs. He sat between Stiles’ legs, his tongue lolled out as he breathed in Stiles’ face. “You’re cute, you know that? You are. You’re an idiot, but you’re cute.”

He pet Zuko slowly, stroking his head and ears.

“If you don’t like models, why did you become one?” Stiles asked after replaying their conversation from the kitchen.

“Seemed like a good idea at the time. I didn’t want to go to college, and my mom had connections so I just,” Derek answered and finished with a hand gesture. “My mom’s friends were really nice, and interesting, and they weren’t anything like the people I’ve met.”

“They’re not vegetables,” Stiles said.

Derek reached a careful hand out and caressed down Zuko’s back. The dog moved from Stiles over to Derek, eager for petting from someone new. Stiles stood and walked inside, not too fast to catch the pair’s attention. He kept an eye of them through the glass door while he found his camera bag and returned outside with it.

Zuko had crawled mostly into Derek’s lap and had turned over so his belly was easily accessible. Derek scratched vigorously and enthusiastically up and down Zu’s chest and belly, making his leg start to pedal into the air and his entire body to wag.

Stiles unzipped his bag and withdrew his camera slowly. He set it up and moved off the porch, stepping only when he was sure not to arouse their attention. He wandered back and forth around them in a semi-circle, snapping photos when he liked the angle and lighting. He technically only needed ten photos but he wanted a variety of cute.

“I know what you’re doing,” Derek stated without breaking his concentration on the scratching.

“I’m aware that you are.”

“What happened to bunnies?”

“Do you see any bunnies around here?”

Derek laughed. Zuko turned over and fell gracefully onto the step, jumping backwards.

“He wants to play,” Stiles said. “There’s a bucket of toys beside the grill.”

Derek retrieved two toys from the tub: a tug-of-war rope that was frayed on both ends and tennis ball launcher, which were two of Zuko’s favorite toys. Zuko noticed the choice and his body’s wagging sped up.

Derek started with the tug-of-war rope, letting Zuko grab on and pull with all his strength. Zuko was strong, mostly lean muscle and with an impressive amount of jaw strength. Derek was also mostly muscle, which Stiles knew because he was almost always shirtless in his photoshoots. They were pretty evenly matched, considering, and they looked like they were having the time of their lives.

He took pictures and gave Derek commentary about how to hold the rope so it didn’t slip out of his hand again. Zuko had taken off with it like a rocket because there was a reason the ends were frayed; he liked to chew them.

“Are you just naturally photogenic? Have you ever taken a bad photo in your life?” Stiles asked while Derek set the rope aside and put the tennis ball in the launcher. He flicked through the photos he had, and Derek was flawless in all of them. He was smiling and beautiful and looked genuinely happy. That was the opposite of Derek’s normally stoic, sexy face. This was Derek the person.

“Did you have any pets growing up?” Stiles asked, switching his camera over to take photos.

“No, Mom didn’t trust us to take care of a pet while she was in Paris or London or New York,” Derek said. “Which is fair, because Laura was entirely too popular and Cora had no interest and my older brother, Avery, had a fish before Cora was born and he managed to leave it on the heater.”  

“You have an older brother?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah, he’s two years older than Laura. No one knows about him because he decided to become a teacher instead of a model, but he’s still my brother, model or not.”

Stiles nodded.

“That’s what my mother said about her sister when I was younger. She said that Cece was crazy, that she was unhinged in a way that she couldn’t understand, but no matter how crazy that weird bunny breeding maniac was, she was still her sister and she still had to love her.”

Derek laughed.

“Family,” he stated.

“Yeah, family.”

 

**vii.**

“Go on up,” Stiles said, gesturing up the stairs. Zuko took the stairs quickly and left Stiles and Derek at the bottom. “You can sleep on the couch, or we have a guest bedroom, although it’s never used so it might be a bit dusty.”

He could also sleep in Stiles’ bed, but Stiles wasn’t going to think that way.

“But keep in mind, if you sleep on the couch, Zuko will cuddle you at some point during the night. He gets restless sometimes at night and wanders around the house until he finds someone to cuddle with for the rest of the night.”

“That’s okay. I like Zu.”

“You won’t when you wake up with a sixty pound loaf on your chest and his rancid puppy breath on your face. Trust me. Eight years of waking up to a boiling oven of a bed and a dog on my chest.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch, and take my chances.”

“Well, if that’s how you want to do it,” Stiles said with a grin. “Let me get you some blankets and some pillows. It’s a comfortable couch, if that makes you feel any better about being a world-renowned model who has to sleep on a couch.”

“I’m not too above the rest of the world that sleeping on a couch is something I am incapable of doing, Stiles.”

Stiles got a blanket out of the hall closet as well as one of the fluffiest pillows he owned. He tossed them at Derek who caught them easily with the stupid grace of a man who looked like he did.

Why didn’t this stupid man have any flaws?

He was pretty, smart, kind, funny, intelligent, and graceful like a dancer.

“You can’t be real,” Stiles said.

“What does that mean?”

“You’re a model who is also smart and- how are you real?”

Derek didn’t reply as he put his bed together on the couch.

“Do you need something to sleep in?”

“No, I’ll just sleep in my boxers,” Derek replied. That’s not the image Stiles needed, really. “Thank you, though.”

“I’ll be going, then. Let me know if there’s anything you need. I’ll be upstairs, first door on your right,” Stiles said before heading upstairs. He stopped just before he disappeared from view. “Oh, one more thing, if Zuko is suffocating you, just push him further down the couch. He’s a big oaf but he’ll go.”

“Anything else?” Derek asked.

“No. Goodnight, Derek.”

“Goodnight, Stiles.”

Stiles finished the climb upstairs and went into his room, finding Zuko laying directly in the middle of his bed. He sighed and pulled his shirt off, tossing it towards his hamper. He dropped his jeans and kicked them away.

“You know, that is not your spot, Zu.”

Zuko didn’t move, just gave him a judgmental puppy dog eyes from the bed.

“Zu, shove it.”

He didn’t move, only yawned and rested his head on his paws while he stared. Stiles propped the door open enough that Zuko could slip in and out of the room if he needed to, and flicked off the light. He crawled into bed and pushed Zuko aside with his legs. Zuko let out a huff and nuzzled into the back of his leg.

“Goodnight, Zu.”

 

**viii.**

Stiles woke up with Zuko standing over him, then licking his face vigorously.

“Good morning, sir. I’m happy to see you, too.”

He bounded off the bed and slipped out the door without Stiles. He pushed himself off the bed and dressed in pajama pants and a loose t-shirt. He checked his phone and smiled.

**From Scotty**

**8:14am**

**dinner tonite w Kira? My treat.**

**From Lydia**

**9:57am**

**I want to kill myself. Greenberg is literally the worst photographer in the world. Please save me, Stilinski.**

**From Lydia**

**10:12**

**I actually want to die right now.**

**From Lydia**

**10:54**

**He grabbed my boob. He’s dead.**

Stiles fired a text back to Scott while he headed downstairs after Zuko.

 

**To Lydia**

**11:34**

**Trust me, no one will miss him. You did a service to the world.**

“Almost an adult and he still has the sleep schedule of a high schooler,” his father remarked as he wandered into the kitchen. Zuko was begging at Derek’s feet for the coffee he was drinking slowly from Stiles’ Batman mug.

“It’s not even noon,” Stiles stated, “just because the law wakes up before dawn doesn’t mean the rest of the world has to.”

The Sheriff rolled his eyes hard. He hated it when Stiles referred to him as “the law,” especially since that was how he had tried to keep Stiles in line during his teenage years, by reminding Stiles that his father was “the law.”

It hadn’t worked.

“Furthermore, the law also goes to bed early and the law’s son does not. Following that logic means that the law’s son is expected to sleep in later than the law.”

“I didn’t raise you to have this attitude,” the Sheriff said.

“Yeah, you did.”

Stiles moved to the fridge and pulled out the milk, and then pulled out his father’s last slice of cold pizza to eat for breakfast. He had no doubt that when he went back to school, his father would continue to eat as horrendously as he wished, but it was his job to take care of him while he could, and that included eating his junk food.

It was truly an awful burden.

“Do you have to work today?”

“Yeah, I’d leave the station with Parrish, but we just got two rookies and I don’t want them burning my station down.”

Stiles frowned.

Even when his Jeep was working, he never got to see his dad much on his weekends at home, since there was always something going on at the station that required the Sheriff’s attention. He had grown up this way, he was used to it, but that didn’t mean it didn’t suck. 

“Alright, well, I’ll bring you dinner, then,” Stiles said. The Sheriff smiled and dumped the last dregs of his coffee down the drain. “Parrish working tonight, too?”

“Yes,” the Sheriff answered, heading towards the stairs so he could change. “Why?”

“No reason.”

“Derek, can you try and keep my son out of trouble today?”

“Yes, sir.”

The Sheriff disappeared upstairs, leaving Stiles and Derek in the kitchen alone. Derek was dressed in the same clothes he’d worn the day before, dark jeans and that soft Dodgers t-shirt that Stiles still wanted to bury his face in. Despite sleeping on a couch, and probably being slobbered on by Zuko, he still looked unfairly good.

“I was thinking of taking Zuko to the park,” Stiles said, “if you want to come along. I still have a couple photos I want to get before we’re done for good.”

“Do you ever stop taking photos?”

Stiles laughed.

“Scott’s actually said that plenty of times. No.”

“You have to sleep sometime,” Derek reasoned.

“You’re not wrong, but I sleepwalk, and sometimes take my camera with me.”

Derek looked at Stiles like he couldn’t believe that he was real, that this continuously moving mess of limbs had survived to be as old as he had. Stiles was actually pretty used to this reaction. He himself didn’t know how he hadn’t accidentally wound himself up in a grave or permanently injured, but he figured it had something to do with his intense desire not to leave his father alone in this world.

They were all the other had.

“I actually have a portfolio of my sleepwalking photography. They’re a little shaky but still pretty good for being asleep, you know?” Stiles said. He grinned. “Let me go get dressed, then we can go before the dog park gets overrun by people on their lunch break.”

“This tiny town has an actual dog park? I thought those were strictly a LA thing?” Derek asked.

“Beacon Hills desperately tries to be LA but fails spectacularly.”

Stiles headed upstairs, Zuko trotting a few steps behind, until they got to his room. Zuko hopped up into bed and waited, watched while Stiles undressed and redressed in jeans and a plaid button up over an old t-shirt.

“Do you want to go to the park, and play with Derek?” Stiles asked, sinking onto the bed to put his socks on.

Zuko whuffed in response.

“I will take that as a yes. Come on. Let’s go.”

 

**ix.**

“Okay, put the camera down,” Derek said, trotting over to him. “Time to put the camera down and be a participating part of this conversation.”

Stiles let the camera drop to his chest, the strap catching around his neck.

“I’ve heard that before, actually. Hazards of the job, always wanting to capture the moment but never taking place in the moment. Scott is constantly yelling at me to just take part in life.”

Derek sank onto a park bench as Zuko dropped at his feet, chewing one of the bones that Stiles had brought with them. Stiles sat beside him and shifted so he could see Derek. He wanted to always look at Derek, always keep his eyes on that beautiful man with his dark shadow of a beard, his bright grey-green-brown-blue eyes, and his perfect hair. Derek was beautiful.

“What were we talking about before?” Stiles asked.

“Wooooooow,” Derek said playfully. “Do you even listen to me when I talk? Should I let you go back to inactively living your life?”

“No, no. I do. I just have attention problems. I have ADHD, and take medicine for it.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me, dude. I’m okay with it. I’ve been living with ADHD since I was a kid, and I’ve learned how to handle it. It’s not something to be pitied for.”

“We were talking about college.”

“You were saying that you would’ve been an engineering major, even though you didn’t want to go to school. Which is extremely boring. You’re a world class model and you would’ve become an engineer. That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re a photography major.”

“I am following my dream, Derek Hale! Don’t mock my dreams!”

“I’m just saying,” Derek said.

“You can stop just saying, then.”

“What made photography your dream?” Derek asked, leaning into Stiles in order to bump him. Stiles bumped back.

“I like the shutter sound.”

Derek raised his impressive eyebrows at Stiles as if surprised.

“What? You were expecting this deep reason?”

“Yeah, kind of. You said it was your dream. That kind of desire doesn’t come out of nowhere.”

“It started with the shutter sound, at least. I was 4 years old, and my mom was taking photos of my birthday party. The shutter sound was so cool to little me that I demanded she give me the camera for the rest of the party, and I never put it down.”

“You’ve been a photographer since you were four. Literally since you were four.”

“There was a time in middle school where I didn’t, where I wasn’t so gung-ho about it. Everyone was trying to be edgy and artsy and a photographer, and they all sucked, but I didn’t want to be part of that crowd. I had been taking photos since I was four and they were just following a trend. It pissed me off so much because whenever I told someone I was a photographer, they would scoff and tell me that I would give it up soon.”

“You’d been doing it since you were four.”

“That’s what I said. So everyone doubted me, and I gave it up for a while. Then when the trend died down, I picked it back up and I haven’t let up since. This is my passion, and I don’t want to give it up, even if it is a trend.”

“Trends suck,” Derek answered.

“Is that your professional opinion as a model?”

“Shut up.”

“Seriously. Is it?”

“I’m going to punch you.”

“You’re a violent model.”

“I’m definitely going to punch you right in the face.”

“Well, at least I don’t have to make my living off my face if you do.”

Derek started to open his mouth to respond when Zuko jumped to his feet and bounded off. Stiles followed but stopped when he found who Zuko was running for.

“Danny Boy!” Stiles called.

“Hey! Stiles!”

Danny was grinning as he came closer. They met with a hug, and Danny kissed Stiles on the cheek. It was just how they greeted each other nowadays.

“What are you doing home for the weekend?” Danny asked as Stiles led him back to the bench. “I thought your Jeep was broken.”

“Oh, it is. It is down for the count. It is never coming back. Zuko needed me, though, so I caught a ride. Oh, ride. This is Derek. Derek, this is Danny, an old, uhh, friend.”

Danny laughed.

“Friend, bisexual gateway, you know, whatever,” Danny said. Stiles elbowed him with a chuckle.

“Don’t listen to him. He likes to think he’s more important than he actually is.”

Danny scoffed but was bowled over by Zuko jumping excitedly against his chest in an attempt to play. Zuko had loved Danny from the moment they met.

He liked to judge people’s character based on how his dog reacted to them.

Zuko loved Danny, so Danny could stay.

Zuko hated Jackson, so Stiles kept far away from him. Stiles had known to stay away from Jackson since kindergarten so it wasn’t a new development. It was more of a reassurance.

Zu loved Derek, though.

Stiles didn’t know what to do about that.

“So, yeah, Derek gave me a ride home, and he’s been kind enough to put up with me for my Photography class project.”

“Is that the same project that Lydia was dying over?” Danny asked.

“Greenberg touched her boob and I think she killed him, which is fine by me, and pretty much anyone who has ever met Greenberg.”

Danny’s hand fell on his arm, a simple touch, and Stiles grinned.

“They will never find his body,” Danny assured him. He looked at his watch. “I have to get back to work, but it was great seeing you again. Let me know when you get home for break, so we can hang out.”

“I would love that.”

Danny smiled that perfect dimpled smile and went on his way, leaving Derek and Stiles alone again. Stiles fell into the bench and pushed Zuko good-naturedly with his feet. Zuko made a sound like a half-hearted complaint before flopping down at Derek’s feet.

“So, who was that?” Derek asked.

“That was Danny. We went to high school together. We used to be a thing. Well, half a thing.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, we broke up because it was mostly just about sex, for me. At least. I don’t know. We work better as friends than anything more.”

Derek nodded, his face all downturned and frowny, the technical term probably being crestfallen. Stiles swore even his eyebrows were frowning.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just, maybe I should go. I don’t want to overstay my welcome,” Derek said quietly. “You’ve got plenty of photos for the assignment. I should go.”

Stiles wasn’t expecting that, at all, and couldn’t come up with anything to say in return. It wasn’t the first time he was speechless, despite what many people might think, but it was the first time that his mind was working at top speeds and his mouth was just frozen.

Derek stood and wiped his hands on his jeans before he said, “yeah, so, I’ll go.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Stiles blurted, standing as well. “Do you want to go?”

“No, but-”

Stiles grabbed Derek’s hands and pulled him gently back to the bench beside him.

“Please, don’t go, then.”

“Okay. I won’t,” Derek said, his eyes catching and staying on Stiles’. They stood together, chests almost touching, without moving for a few minutes. Stiles couldn’t stop his gaze from flicking from Derek’s eyes to his lips and back again.

Stiles’ phone vibrated in his pocket and broke the spell. He stepped back to check it.

 

**From Scotty**

**2:01**

**Meet me and Kira @ Lazarus 5:30?**

**To Scotty**

**2:01**

**Can I bring a plus one?**

**From Scotty**

**2:02**

**You have a plus one?**

“Wow, my best friend is a dick,” Stiles said, showing the conversation to Derek.

“Am I your plus one?” he asked gently, almost afraid to scare Stiles off or offend him.

“I was hoping that you would be my plus one,” Stiles said as he typed out his reply.

 

**To Scotty**

**2:04**

**Yeah bro I have a plus one**

**To Scotty**

**2:04**

**Is it okay?**

“If you want to be, that is. It means meeting my best friend and being judged,” Stiles warned.

**From Scotty**

**2:05**

**Yeah bro im glad you finally found a plus one**

“He might think we’re dating, might treat you like you’re my boyfriend.”

 “You could treat me like your boyfriend, too,” he said, his face lighting up with a flirtatious grin. He drew closer to Stiles, breaking into Stiles’ personal space.

“Are you flirting with me right now?”

Derek started to open his mouth but Stiles steamrolled on ahead. That was his specialty.

“If that’s the case, then you’re really bad at flirting, but you’re pretty and you’re trying even with your frowny eyebrows. And that is adorable. You are adorable with your pretty, frowny eyebrows, and I am willing to look past your awful flirting to the bigger picture.”

“What’s the bigger picture?”

“You just asked a stranger to be your boyfriend.”

“Well, we can start small,” Derek said. “I could take you to lunch, and then we can go to dinner with your friend, and maybe we can kiss goodnight before I turn in on your couch. I’ll take you out to breakfast and drive you back to campus.”

“Will you kiss me when you drop me off, too?”

“If you want.”

“I do. I really, really do.”

Derek continued, “I will pick you up for dates and if we like where this is going, then I will be your boyfriend. If you want me.”

“I have a question, though.”

“What’s that?” Derek asked.

“Do you have to wait until tonight for you to kiss me? Because I really wa-”

Derek was leaning in and his mouth was on Stiles’ before he could finish his sentence. He was a soft kisser, gentle and careful. At first. When Stiles opened up to the kiss, he dove in and held Stiles close to him, one hand cradling his jaw and the other on the small of his back. Stiles clutched the fabric of Derek’s Dodgers shirt tight in his fist.

Stiles broke the kiss and rested his forehead against Derek’s.

“So, can I call you my boyfriend now? Because there’s no way I’m going to let someone who kisses me like that go.”

Derek hummed and kissed him softly.

“Let’s go get lunch.”

 

**To Scotty**

**2:15**

**I have a plus one. Be nice to him. His name is Derek.** **He’s my boyfriend.**

 

**x.**

Stiles was leaning against the brick, waiting by the front door of his dorm hall when his boyfriend pulled up in his fancy, douche face of a car. Derek climbed out and winked at Stiles.

“Who is that?” one of Stiles’ floor mates asked as they exited the building.

“That is my boyfriend.”

“That looks like Derek Hale, as in one of the Hale models,” another said, pausing at Stiles’ side.

“That’s because he is,” Stiles answered. “My boyfriend is Derek Hale, as in one of the Hale models.”

“How?” the first floor mate asked.

Derek strode over and swept Stiles close for a passionate kiss. Stiles couldn’t stop himself from making the most obnoxious humming noise, pleased that his boyfriend was so excited to see him.

It had been four and a half weeks since they’d seen each other. Derek had been in Paris, Progue, London, Rome, Sidney, New York City, and beyond in the past couple of weeks and Stiles hadn’t been able to see him except for Skype calls.

“Okay, guys, chill,” the first floor mate said. “I’ll get the hose.”

Stiles broke the kiss, reluctantly, but didn’t move away from Derek an inch. He just breathed in this perfect, wonderful man with the heart of gold and the face of a god. This was the man that earned him his first and only one hundred in Finstock’s class. He’d gotten ninety-fives and ninety-eights, but never Finstock’s coveted one hundred.

“Thanks for coming to see me,” Stiles said. “Boyfriend.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!
> 
> [Zuko](http://www.kdhamptons.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/016495-Kahlua-e1348955766384-690x490.jpg)
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr!](http://www.deputy-heart-eyes.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thank you, babies!!!


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